


When you move, honey I'm put in awe (of somethin' so flawed and free)

by LightningFB1



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Universe, F/F, Future events, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Sorry Not Sorry, Spoilers C2E60, Wing Kink, it gets steamy at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningFB1/pseuds/LightningFB1
Summary: Enraptured by something right behind Yasha, Jester lets out a high-pitched squeal and breaks into a full sprint. Yasha gets a glimpse before it’s gone. Untarnished white, glowing softly in the moonlight, velvet soft and delicate. It’s heart wrenching in its beauty.Yasha almost doesn’t believe it.





	When you move, honey I'm put in awe (of somethin' so flawed and free)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, guys. But since Matt did what he did last episode, I HAD to write this. It was a must be done, because nobody else would and wing fics are my thing, you know? This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written, but hopefully you'll enjoy it as well.  
> I keep meaning to send my works to the kind people who offered to beta for me, but when I finish writing it's always between 2-4 am and I don't have the heart to do it because what if they're somewhere in my time zone? I'm also super antsy, so~
> 
> If you haven't watched Episode 60, highly recommend you watch it before you read this.

There’s been a new light found in Yasha’s heart ever since the Stormlord talked to her.

In the middle of all that destruction, the pain, the death, there had been a beacon of hope. A chance to redeem herself, a chance to keep those around her safe from the world and, maybe, herself and her own withered nature.

The request was clear. Get stronger, learn the source of this strength and stoke the fire. Don the armor of the protector and assume the responsibility, one she had already _twice_ failed to fulfill.

It took Yasha a good while to identify the pillars, and even longer to come to terms with the fact that she deserved them holding her up, solid and present. It took coming to terms with loss, to let herself feel and grieve, to see things in a whole new light and process it. Long days and months of letting it sink, slowly but surely. It took more courage than she ever thought she held in herself.

All the way through, she was never once alone. Even if she decided to find solace in her solitude, not once she felt the piercing cold of loneliness.

 

* * *

 

In the fevered pitch of battle, with divine fury setting her veins alight and scorching her enemies, Yasha isn’t expecting it the first time.

It feels preposterous, to not have noticed earlier, when it’s over.

It’s been almost a year now since she has started looking for answers, fighting her most primitive instincts to achieve a goal that’s been presented to her in her dreams, a goal she has yet to talk about with some of the members of the Mighty Nein. With _one_ particular member of the Mighty Nein.

When she finally gets a taste of success, she almost misses it.

Enraptured by something right behind Yasha, Jester lets out a high-pitched squeal and breaks into a full sprint. Yasha gets a glimpse before it’s gone. Untarnished white, glowing softly in the moonlight, velvet soft and delicate. It’s heart wrenching in its beauty.

Yasha almost doesn’t believe it.

It fades along with the last few wisps of the shroud – _it certainly looks different; how could I not see this before?_ –, just in time to catch the look of unadulterated awe on Jester’s face as she skips towards her, cheeks sprayed with blood – _not hers_ , Yasha sighs in relief. The tiefling tackles her and clings to her right shoulder, lavender irises thrilled, like they haven’t been all on the brink of dying just a few seconds ago. Yasha doesn’t know if it’s the shock clouding everything else, but she doesn’t even feel the usual unease at having her personal space invaded.

“OH MY GOD, YASHA! They’re so pretty! I knew they were—I mean, they had to be! Not like they’re not pretty when they are like… you know, but I had never seen them like that before and it’s—”

One of Yasha’s arms wrap around the smaller form of her friend, but her attention is scattered at best, and for reasons beyond her understanding her eyes are searching for something else – _someone else_. It’s easy to catch sight of her. Not far, the still scorching remnants of the slain creature offer enough of a glow Beauregard can see through the fog of darkness without her goggles, and it shouldn’t be so damn endearing in its absurdity, but it is. Beauregard’s bo is on the ground, right next to her feet, and her fingers are flexing around nothing. She is staring dumbly at Yasha, mouth slightly agape, eyebrows arched and eyes wide.

When it happens, it surprises them all. The bubbling sound of laughter climbing up Yasha’s chest, a sound she herself hasn’t heard in a long, long while. Pure and rich and unrestrained. Yasha laughs and Beauregard’s eyes lighten up like every star in the universe has decided to start burning just for her.

 

* * *

 

It’s always during fights that the pearl white of feathers makes its apparition on the bare, dark bones of the wings. But then again, there’s no reason to let them exist on this plane other than to scare a potential threat. Until now, there hasn’t been a reason. But Yasha is curious.

It’s happened four times. Six if she counts the times it happened in her dreams.

The excitement and hope have died down considerably and now Yasha deals with the frustration of being unable to push this situation further. She’s made herself scarce lately but her friends haven’t pushed. She’s been taking some time to think about the visions presented to her during her sleep, considering carefully what’s been said to her in past situations, trying to come up with a way to finally destroy the shackles keeping her prisoner.

So deep in her own thoughts, walking a fair distance away from the group as they make their way through the road circumventing one of the many Xhorhassian forests, Yasha doesn’t notice when Beauregard starts walking in silence slightly behind her.

“Huh—Yash? You okay there?”

Mismatched eyes snap to the sneaky monk, muscles tense and hand instinctually reaching back.

“Woah! It’s just me! Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, I’m just—,” her hands are up and she starts slowing down, falling behind a bit more.

“No, no. I’m sorry,” Yasha mutters, taking a calming breath. “I didn’t hear you.”

Beau smirks, but there’s something off about it.

“It’s okay, I’ve had my fair share of Nott sneaking up on me, can’t say I blame you,” Yasha’s face tilts to the side and she studies Beauregard’s expression with a bit more of intensity, her face scrunches up a bit. “What’s on my face?”

“You look—Are _you_ okay?”

Beauregard visible flinches at that. Yasha wants to pat herself on the back because, a year ago, she would have never noticed the signs.

“Yeah! Yeah, no, no. Just peachy. A bit worried, you know? You’ve been,” she’s doing a vague gesture with her hands and Yasha blinks in confusion, to which Beau sighs. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? I know I can be kind of… useless on some matters. But if you want to, maybe, like, talk or something…”

Yasha considers it, because she has never talked to Beauregard about this particular subject before, not the way she knows they should, and she’s been trying to come up with an excuse to have that talk. But there’s nervousness fluttering at the pit of her stomach, something she’s never felt with the rest of her friends.

“I totally understand if you want to—maybe Jess or Caddy, they’re way better at—well, most things,” Yasha wants to stop her and explain that this is not the reason she’s come to them before, but she doesn’t know how to explain the reason why it’s not been Beau instead. She’s not sure she even knows why. “I didn’t mean to, like, push you or—we don’t need to talk at all. But I want you to know that we can. If you want,” Yasha’s lips curl slightly at the corners, but Beau misses it completely. “You really don’t have to. I’m not—look, what I’m saying is, you wanna talk? I’m here. Or I could get you Jess. I’m sure she—,” The rambling comes to a screeching halt the second Yasha’s hand is on Beau’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I do want to talk with you, Beau.”

There’s a moment of absolute silence and staring at each other and then Beau trips over something, maybe her own feet. Yasha is quick to catch her but Beau’s already found her balance and when she looks up there’s so much going on there on her face, Yasha doesn’t know what to do with it. Beau darker complexion does nothing to hide the blush on her cheeks, creeping down her neck, but she’s smiling a dopey grin and her eyes are both excited and filled with… affection?

“Yes! I mean,” she coughs into her hand, Yasha resists the urge to chuckle, “Yes, sure. We can talk, whenever you want.”

“Tonight, we take guarding duty together,” Yasha pats her shoulder before letting go, a bit awkwardly. “I have… quite a bit to tell you. I’ve meant to, but I didn’t know how to approach… certain topics…”

“No, no, no, no, it’s perfectly fine. It’s absolutely fine. Okay, I’m gonna—” Beauregard hooks her thumb over her shoulder, glances back and rolls her eyes before pointing ahead of them. “I’ll let you… do your thinking. Tonight. Awesome. Okay, bye!”

Yasha watches her dash towards the others and shakes her head, smiling to herself.

 

* * *

 

That night, they talk.

They talk about Zuala, they talk about what Yasha does not remember and about what she does, they talk about a past that broke her and a present that’s letting her heal, so very slowly. They talk about her clan and their ways and about Yasha’s feelings and thoughts. It’s not easy and it’s certainly not smooth and fluent. They sit next to the bonfire, watching over the hut where they friends sleep. The sound of Caduceus’ snoring fills the silent moments, dissipating any trace of tension.

It does get easier once they both start sharing. Beau offers snippets of her childhood and teenage years, letting Yasha in with a caution that causes her heart to ache in sympathy. They both struggle with it, but the weight off their shoulders feels so liberating neither of them don’t stop.

Beauregard offers as much as she takes, but only when Yasha doesn’t know how to continue. Otherwise, she’s a quiet listener. They stay up during the second and third watch, and they talk well into the sunrise. By the time they stop hearing the snores, they know more about each other lives than they thought it possible. They’re both a bit tired, Yasha doesn’t remember feeling her throat sore like this in her entire life.

It’s more talking than they’ve done since they ran into each other, long ago in a tavern where the windows open and close like magic resides in the very bones of the establishment and tarot cards reveal fateful events. Where a group of misfits and broken individuals are brought together to give way to something so much greater than the sum of its parts.

Since that night, Beauregard starts offering herself to keep watch with Yasha again, something she hasn’t done for a good while, and it feels so good. It feels _right_. In a way, like one of the sturdies links keeping her shackles together has turned into a very weak, thin piece of iron tonight.

 

* * *

 

They’ve come a long way since they started. They’re close and they trust each other. Yasha thinks she may trust her more than anyone else. It’s not like she didn’t before, she knew she could trust Beau with her life, but there had always been some other subjects…

It took her long to understand why talking about Zuala with Beau had been postponed like that, it took even longer to accept the combination of her own affections for the monk, the grief still very pungent and alive in her heart and the anticipation for a negative reaction could mix into something so destructive that could have driven them apart for good.

More than two years later, she’s more grateful than she’s ever been for Beau’s friendship and company.

Once Yasha had told her about her wife and her feelings on it, Beau had been respectful in her ways to show her appreciation and Yasha decided she would ignore the sting whenever she decided to flirt with other women – and _not her_. Because Beau had been doing exactly what Yasha had asked without her having to vocalize it, respecting her feelings and desires. Right?

That’s what she wanted.

“Look, if you need to sleep to talk to him, why don’t you ask Cad for some tea and try that?” Yasha hears Beauregard’s muffled voice, almost lost to the sound of rain pouring down over the canopy and their heads. Yasha glances and resists the urge to groan. Beauregard is standing there with her hood over her head, drenched to the bone.

“I told you, you should wait inside. You don’t need to be here.”

There’s a not very happy sound just as Yasha’s eyes close once more, she can picture the monk crossing her arms over her chest and leaning onto the trunk of a tree. She stays like that for a while, losing track of time, eyes closed and face to the storm, silently trying to communicate with a god too stubborn to talk back, until a gasp pulls her out of her concentration.

Yasha opens one eye and notices the tendrils of the shroud surrounding her, her skeletal wings are folded at her back. She doesn’t remember summoning them. Beauregard is staring, a noticeable shiver running up and down her form even under the cloak wrapped around her body, if consequence of the cold or Yasha’s change… it’s hard to tell.

“ _It’s okay_ ,” she says, and her voice is a melody. One Beauregard, who has spent nights and days reading and learning and memorizing and repeating, knows well enough.

“ _I know_ ,” she replies, and it’s a broken song this time, but clear enough that Yasha’s pitch black eyes widen in surprise.

“ _Since when?_ ” Yasha asks, and Beau smirks her cocky smirk, shrugging and hiding further into the cloak to hide the blush on her cheeks.

“ _For a while. I asked Dairon to get me books on it,_ ” the shroud doesn’t recede, but Beau doesn’t look intimidated by it. “ _You just caught me by surprise,_ ” she moves the tiniest bit closer to her and Yasha’s eyes flutter close again, now basking in the proximity and soft warmth she feels coming from her side.

“ _You’ve become stronger…_ ”

The voice she hears this time doesn’t sound at all like the one she’s expecting and Yasha needs to make an active effort to remain still and calm.

“ _I have,_ ” she answers in her mind. “ _They have made me strong. I have reason, I have purpose. I can protect them,_ ”

There’s a humming noise of approval and Yasha feels, distantly, a hand on her forearm. Gentle, reassuring, warm. She can see her own image inside of her head, she looks down and sees them, the chains binding her closed fists together. Yasha nods with resolution, takes a deep breath and let the rage fill her, powerful and unrestrained. She pulls, hard. They metal groans and the voice rumbles like thunder.

“ _You’ve done so well, my child._ ”

Yasha’s heart picks up in speed, her blood pumping wildly, roaring in her ears. She pulls again. A few clicks are followed by the sound of metal against stone.

“ _Don’t forget what you’ve learned._ ”

Yasha looks down again and sees links of the chain scattered around her, shining when the light of lightning flashes. She puts her hand around her own wrist and growls, the metal bending under her fingertips, one after the other. They both clank as they fall to the ground and the warmth she feels on that one spot on her skin spreads like a wildfire all through her body.

“ _You are fated for great things, Yasha_.”

 

* * *

 

Her eyes snap open.

Beauregard is not there and she almost panics before she sees her, sprawled on the ground, hands behind her and staring with the most curious expression. Yasha glances over her shoulder, suddenly fascinated by the bright radiance of her once wilting wings, the soft feathers running along its edges.

“Woah…” She blinks at the sound, trying to come out of the stupor and glances in Beauregard’s direction. “May I?”

The monk is now on her feet and moving towards her, when Yasha nods she reaches forward and threads careful fingers along the outer edge, tracing the line of one of the longest feathers. Yasha shivers at the contact, but it goes unnoticed.

“They’re so fucking cool, Yash…” The wing under Beauregard’s attentive inspection twitches when she moves her hand up and buries her fingertips at the joint where the snow-white feathers are smaller. “Huh—sorry, did that hurt you?”

Yasha is trying really hard not to let her see just how flustered she’s become. “No, no. It’s fine. I guess it takes some getting used to. It feels… a bit too much,” Beauregard looks suddenly uncomfortable, a look Yasha feels responsible for and doesn’t like at all. She makes as if to pull her hand away, but Yasha takes it gently and guides it back where it was, feeling for the first time the silky smoothness of the feathers herself. She sighs and hums at the contact, ignoring the way Beauregard flushes. Yasha hides a smirk, relaxing the muscles of her back and arms and leaning into the touch. “But it’s nice. Really nice.”

The distinctive pattern of Beauregard’s breathing changes and it’s not until then that she notices the rain has stopped, and they’re standing at the edges of a forest. Alone.

“You know, Beau,” she’s been giving this a lot of thought, for months and months. “That girl at the inn, two towns ago.”

Beauregard’s voice sounds a bit choked when she finds it, “Ingrit,” she supplies. Like she already knows where Yasha’s going. Maybe she does.

“Ingrit,” she confirms. “She came looking for you, that night. Looked like she was ready to set your things on fire, something about you running off when she tried to make… advances, I think it was what she said?”

There’s a nervous chuckle, “Yeaaah… we didn’t get along very well.”

“And the one bartender? Three weeks ago. You ran into our room pleading with us to stay quiet while she looked for you in every single room at the place. I’ve never seen Caduceus more confused.”

“Okay, now that’s an overstate—,” Beau tries to deflect, but Yasha doesn’t stop there.

“There was also the lady at the bath house—”

“I’m a flirty person, it doesn’t mean I wanted to sleep with them!”

Yasha does look at her directly, intently into panicking blue eyes now.

“Was it like that? With me, those times?” Beau looks like a fish out of the water and it would be comical if Yasha wasn’t so damn on edge about it all. The sensation left behind by the words of the Stormlord, that incredible freedom blooming in her chest, spurs her now into action with no inhibitions or restraints. “Hm?”

Beauregard shakes her head no, and Yasha smirks like the cat who got the cream. Beau’s eyebrow twitches like she’s trying very hard to understand what is going on and after a few seconds she smiles, sweetly, so very innocently.

“You know it’s always been different with you, Yash. I only ever stopped pursuing you because you kind of asked for it,” She shrugs and gives a testing scratch at the ruffled feathers under her fingers. Yasha’s whole form shudders, and now it’s Beauregard smirking victoriously. Yasha, on her part, is not sure if her brain decided to shut off because of the words of because her body reactions are so intense to this new found sensations. “But if you change your mind, you only need to say the word.”

Yasha has only ever seen the most awkward – in an adorable way, but still different – side of Beau’s flirting, but today of all days she’s decided to act smooth as silk. She winks, brushes her thumb against Yasha’s jaw so briefly she could have imagined it and starts walking back towards the shelter and their friends. Yasha needs to snap out of it before she can even move one foot, she blinks disbelievingly.

“Come on, we need to tell the others, they’re gonna lose their shit.”

 

* * *

 

It’s been a week, Yasha has always been the broody type, but this is getting to a whole new level. Nott, who has long since earned her comma, talks to her like she could snap and growl at them like a feral cat at any sudden movement. Caduceus has made her tea ‘to calm the fraying nerves’ for three nights in a row. Fjord walks into places where Yasha is just _existing_ and walks back with his hands up in surrender. Caleb has used magic _twice_ to dunamancy himself the heck out of there and avoid her altogether. What the hell is wrong with everyone?

Beauregard, however, is wearing that stupid smug grin of hers.

All. The. Time.

It’s getting on her nerves but they haven’t had a single minute alone since that afternoon, and the whole thing seems to be very amusing to the monk. Jester has been caught giggling like the conspirator she is more than once and Yasha doesn’t want to deal with that either. Mostly, because she knows the blue tiefling doesn’t like to beat around the bushes and she’s not sure she’s ready for the truth being rubbed on her face. She brought this upon herself, she knows. She was obvious about keeping track on Beauregard’s – stupid Beauregard – activities and questioning her about it only provided momentary satisfaction. Now she was paying for it.

This business, the whole getting rid of her restraint, she never knew it would come with these many feelings, or those feelings being felt _so damn deeply_. The Stormlord never explained how it would work. Yasha wishes she could have had a heads up.

“Yaaaash,” Yasha rolls her eyes and turns to face a smirking monk. “Who do you think would win in a fight, Caddy or Pumat?”

“I say Duces would talk Pumat into changing his ways before they even engaged in a fight,” Fjord reasons, and Nott agrees with a slow nod.

“But if they _did_ engage in a fight, I say Pumat would have the upper hand,” Caleb murmurs, face buried in the pages of a really thick book, and Nott looks at him before nodding her head more fervently.

“Oh… The triplets from Zadash,” Caduceus glances their way, eyebrows drawn together. “I don’t see how that would be a fair fight, mmh. I would have to agree with Mr. Caleb.”

“Nott! You’re not supposed to change your mind when someone points out something new… I agree with Fjord, by the way. But if they _did_ get in a fight, Caduceus would kick his ass all the same. You are all wrong,” Jester states as she kicks up the pace and goes to walk at Yasha’s right, hands clasped at her back and head tilted to look at her face. “Who do you think would win, Yasha?”

Beauregard, of course, imitates Jester’s posturing and lifts a single eyebrow. Yasha has taken to avoiding looking at her face altogether, she instead turns towards Jester and sighs. “Pumat is without a doubt very powerful, but Caduceus could take him, any way he wanted.”

Jester, bless her heart, smiles wickedly at that and Yasha realizes too late. “That’s very kinky,” the tiefling wiggles her eyebrows and Beau snorts. Yasha turns towards her with a glare that has no effect at all. Beauregard smirk deepens and Yasha lets out a grunt under her breath.

“You guys are being all flirty again,” Jester points out. Nott stumbles and makes a squeaky noise and Caleb’s breath hitches right behind them. Yasha is pretty sure she hears Fjord facepalm a bit too hard. “But, like, in a real aggressive way Yasha. What’s gotten into you?” Now Beauregard is, in a very obvious way, containing her laughter and Jester’s face is all scrunched up in thought as she pokes one of her shoulders. “You two need to bone.”

Yasha’s face is a piece of art at that and Beauregard just explodes laughing, hands over her stomach and all. Everyone goes deathly silent after that, except for Jester who doesn’t even notice the fuming aasimar walking ahead. Yasha desperately needs to get to the next town and drink herself into stupor.

 

* * *

 

They don’t get to a place where she can get properly wasted for eleven more days. _Eleven fucking days_. By the time the Nein make themselves comfortable at the inn, Yasha is settled at the bar nursing a big tankard of ale. Jester slides into the seat to her right.

“Hello, Yasha… What are you doing here alone?” Yasha shrugs her shoulders, her mood – while it hasn’t improved in the slightest during these days – seems to be ineffective in keeping at least two of the members of the Nein away. One of them seems to enjoy it, while the other one seems unaware of the dangers of Yasha’s new fleeting emotions. “I can drink with you if you’re fine with that,” Jester offers, slamming her empty glass on the counter. “Can I have some milk here, pleaaase?”

“There you are!” Yasha’s face falls on her arms, muttering something unintelligible against the wood of the bar. “Hey, Yash! Bye, Yash!” And she’s gone. And so is Jester. And Yasha is blinking stupidly at their retreating forms.

“Well…”

She shrugs and goes back to her ale.

 

* * *

 

Beauregard doesn’t come back until late into the night, arm draped over the shoulders of a very amused Jester, a blood-stained linen cloth pressed to lips curled in a smug smile and a cut on her left cheek. Yasha wants to be worried, maybe even annoyed, she certainly _doesn’t_ want her body to react any other ways… but here they are. She would also love to be at least a bit tipsy but the alcohol here doesn’t work very well on her. The laughter grows louder, followed by an “fuck, Jess, stop that!” and Yasha slams the tankard on the bar. She walks towards the table near the door where the rest of her friends are gathering around the monk, who is grinning crookedly at Nott.

“Do you even need that gold? Why do you keep getting yourself in so much trouble?”

Fjord shakes his head in disapproval and Beau, sweaty and bloody and beaten Beau shrugs her shoulders unapologetically.

“They were asking for it,” Jester hums in agreement. “Acting all cocky, they laughed at me when I told them I could take them. I had to show them I wasn’t bluffing.”

“They also called me a bitch,” Jester continues like it’s nothing and Fjord’s eyes widen. “Three to one! You should have seen her, Fjord. She punched one in the nose and kicked the other in the gut and stomped on his—” Jester stops wiggling when Beau groans, clutching at her side.

Yasha is distantly aware of the conversation going on, way more focused on taking on the sight in front of her. She’s always been hard to miss. Not like, ‘Oohhh, hard to miss’, but imponent enough that people noticed her presence. In the state of adrenaline everyone seems to be, however, they haven’t noticed her yet. She makes good use of the opportunity and lets her eyes wander… and immediately regrets it when heat pools at the pit of her stomach. Damn it, these emotions, she almost misses the chains.

“… better get some sleep now,” Caduceus gives a solemn nod, turning around to look at her. She has no idea what he’s been saying or when he perceived her standing there.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Beau agrees half-heartedly, rolling her arm around to check for injuries, hand clasped on the opposite shoulder. Yasha blinks, the cuts on Beau’s cheek and lip are gone, there are bits of healing magic clinging to her skin here and there. How long did she zone out? “We’re going, Caddyshack.” There’s a lazy smile on both their faces as Beauregard stretches her arms over her head and Yasha needs to tear her eyes away so her jaw doesn’t hit the floor. Caduceus gives her a knowing look and she flushes. “Jester?” She hears him call.

“Yeah?” Jester peeks around Beauregard and with an owlish expression.

“I could use your help with some… healing spells. If you don’t mind, I wouldn’t want to keep you awake if you’re too tired,” Jester waves her hand and makes a ‘pft’ noise, rolling her eyes.

“I’m never too tired to hang out with you, Duces. Besides, we have very important healer matters to attend, of course… we are like, the pillars holding this group alive. You know,” Caduceus nods reverently, like he fully agrees with the statement and Yasha quirks an eyebrow. “Let’s go,” Jester takes him by the arm and pulls him along, Yasha catches his eye before he’s dragged toward the stairs and it makes the blush creep from her neck to her ears.

Before anyone else can take notice of the ridiculous state she’s in, for no apparent reason, she sneaks away and takes the opposite set of stairs to the first floor towards the bedrooms they’ve been assigned. Caduceus is heading for theirs, Jester all but skipping at his side. Yasha is too stunned, staring at them and considering the circumstances when she notices Beau standing at the top of the stairs, regarding her casually with both arms draped over the rail.

“Hey, Yash.”

Yasha keeps her cool. Kind of.

“I don’t know what the word is.”

Beauregard’s face does this thing it does when she’s utterly confused. Eyebrows drawn together, a small crease forming on her forehead, and Yasha needs to remind herself that this means she needs to formulate further and explain because for a second too long, she’s just staring in perfect silence.

“You said…” She lowers her gaze to her own hands, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t think I can keep doing this,” she says conversationally. Like she’s not letting out days, months and potentially years of pent up frustration at that exact moment. “I’m committed to Zuala. I will always be committed to her. I won’t stop thinking of her and I won’t stop loving her. My heart will ache for her until I can no longer breathe,” it’s only at that, that Yasha meets Beauregard’s eye.

Beauregard still looks like she’s trying to decipher the meaning behind Yasha’s words, and in a second the expression changes into something akin regret. “Oh, Yasha… I didn’t mean to…”

“No! It’s not that. Listen,” Yasha is quick to placate, taking one step forward and closer to the monk. Beau stays put, doesn’t step back, doesn’t speak a word. “I’m in love with you,” Beau’s eyes widen comically, Yasha doesn’t want to stop and think anymore. She’s been doing that for too long. So, she lets whatever has taken over keep the control and just… talks. “I’ve been in love with you for so long,” she shakes her head and laughs, ruefully, “You talked to those girls and I wanted to cut their legs and then punch your face, but I have no right to feel that way. I have no right to be possessive, or to claim something that doesn’t belong to me. Because I can’t be yours, I’m someone else’s. I can’t be yours…”

Yasha’s eyes meet Beau’s again and there’s such desperation and hurt and resignation in that gentle soul, Beau feels her throat close and tears sting.

“Yasha, no. You don’t have to forget her; you don’t even have to stop loving her. You don’t need to do any of that,” Beauregard moves again, one of her hands tracing gentle lines on Yasha’s forearm. “I would never ask that of you. I understand because, even if you’re not mine, if I—” she clears her throat, uncomfortable, but pushes herself to continue, “If I ever lost you, I would never want to forget what we have. Even if it’s just friendship what you can offer, I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you as many times as you need, I’ll take that. I’ll take that, Yash, and I’ll be grateful for it.” A small, sad smile crosses Beau’s face and Yasha is suddenly aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks. The back of a wrapped hand traces the path of her tears in a careful caress. “I’m so sorry I made you think this and feel that way.”

Yasha searches for the depths of Beau’s eyes, something warm and comforting there she feels has no right to abuse. “No, that’s not the point. The point is I got to live on, I got to meet you and fall for you and I know—” Yasha’s hand takes the one on her cheek and she takes a breath, trying to collect her thoughts. “I know she wouldn’t want me to be miserable, she wouldn’t want me to make _you_ miserable either. But I wouldn’t want to give you less than you deserve and I would never want her to feel like I’ve betrayed her.”

“Look, I don’t wanna talk in her stead, cause sad as it is, I didn’t get to meet her,” Beau looks away for a moment, “but if you were mine and I left this place, I wouldn’t want you to feel this way. Ever. But that’s not all of it. I would want you to live fully, to be happy, to enjoy your pass through this stupid, violent world we live in.” When she looks up, she has Yasha’s full attention on her. “And I know for a fact Zuala was a million times a better person than I could ever hope to become.”

Yasha’s laughs through the tears, shaking her head. “That’s not true, she would have thought you are wonderful. She would have admired your spirit and your heart, and also that mean right hook of yours. I know I do.”

Beau smiles at that, a true, honest to the gods smile, and Yasha’s heart stops beating for an eternal second.

“You’re pretty amazing yourself,” she winks, there are still unshed tears in her eyes and Yasha wants nothing but to vanish them for good. To make Beauregard happy and keep her that way forever. She pulls her close and wraps her arms around her in a tight hug. “I’ve had the most terrible crush on you since the moment I saw you. I fell for you not long after. I didn’t—I didn’t want to be that person. The asshole that keeps pushing things when there’s no response from the other side. It felt like I was a kid throwing pebbles at a wall,” she explains and laughs bitterly, nuzzling her face against Yasha’s skin. “Since the pebbles kept bouncing off, I stepped away. I let you be. Then I learned about Zuala,” the name in Beau’s lips cause the ache in Yasha’s heart to recede, it’s like a balm to a wound. “And I would never disrespect you or her like that, Yash. I can play silly games and act like an idiot at times, but I do—I love you, and you’re too important to me. I would never want to be a fuckwad around you, for you… it’s just… old habits, you know?”

Yasha smiles, pressing her lips to the top of Beau’s head. “You can’t help being you, Beau,” the girl in her arms lets out an indignant noise and Yasha squeezes her softly. “It’s okay. I feel pretty good about fuckwads.”

“Asshole,” Beau mutters against the crook of her neck, Yasha’s shoulder shakes with laughter and then she sighs, an exhausted sigh.

“I’m tired of struggling. I’ve done my fair share already. The world, my demons, our enemies, those I can’t help but fight against. Because that’s life. But I don’t want to keep fighting myself and the good things I’ve been blessed with,” Yasha mumbles only loud enough for Beauregard to hear if she’s keeping close attention, which she certainly is.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not my place to say this… but I will feel like shit if I don’t. I know you’re not mine, I know you may never be, but if you ever decided to be and I died,” Yasha swallows thickly, fingertips unconsciously clawing at cobalt robes. “I would never want you to have to hold back from anything. I would want you to be the woman I’ve fallen for, the woman I loved and admired.”

Yasha gets it, then. She truly does. There’s something raw about the way Beau conveys her feelings that hits home. It’s nothing she hasn’t considered before, maybe it’s more about the honesty deeply engraved in the message or the way Beau’s heartbeat thrums against her chest in sync with the energy coursing through her veins. Something godly, something otherworldly, something so beautiful it makes her want to fall to her knees and cry happy tears.

“Beau,” she looks up, meeting Yasha’s gaze. “Can we go to your bedroom, please?”

 

* * *

 

The first night, everything feels too intense and raw, and they’re both dealing with an emotional turmoil they’re not used to. It’s innocent and sweet, the way Beauregard snuggles up to her and Yasha’s arm engulfs her lithe form to keep her close.

Yasha is not used to sleeping in beds and she usually avoids it altogether because it’s inconvenient. If anyone dared attack them in the middle of the night, which in her experience is not such a crazy possibility, it would take forever to untangle herself from furs (and limbs, apparently) and reach for her weapon to make sure the assailants lost their fingers without reaching her or her friends.

This night, however, she falls asleep without meaning to, lulled by the warmth of Beauregard’s presence and the comfortable weight of her body on her side. She wakes up with a sleepy monk wrapped over her, grumpily mumbling as the sunlight hits her eyelids. Yasha never once thought she’d be this happy again.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long before their sleeping arrangements are modified as per Jester’s petition. The tension between the two sentinels is going through the roof and their friends decide to give them space and privacy, because nobody wants to be in the middle of this once it reaches its peak.

 

* * *

 

They’ve been together for no longer than a week.

They go to bed together every night and find solace in each other’s arms, sharing body heat in the cold nights and mumbled words of affection, lips meeting eager lips and hands roaming freely. They haven’t gone further, Beau won’t unless Yasha asks for it, and Yasha knows as much. Yasha isn’t immune to Beau’s gentle touch, much less to her less gentle mouth. Beauregard tries to get a hold on herself and Yasha can tell, but sometimes things get heated and they’re both panting by the time they stop.

It’s during that night that they find themselves far enough from the rest to allow themselves some more exploring. With Beauregard’s lips trailing the line of her jaw and her hands moving up her torso, Yasha can barely gather her thoughts for long enough to pull at the offending garments between them.

Yasha’s fingers move methodically, unlacing the straps holding her outfit together, and Beau is entranced watching her.

“That’s—that’s doing so many things to me right now, Yash.” Beauregard all but whimpers and it brings a smirk to Yasha’s lips as she pushes the bundle of clothing aside. She’s still covered in her chest wrappings and pants, and Beau’s robes are still very much on her body. Something that needs taking care of.

“Imagine when I’m the one doing so many things to you,” Yasha whispers against the skin of her neck and Beauregard’s whole body trembles as her hands reach under the robe and move upwards. Beau’s arms go up on their own volition and not a minute later, her robe is gone and she’s being shoved down against her bedroll by a very enthusiastic aasimar.

“What’s gotten into you today?” Her voice tries for teasing, but ends up choking on a groan when Yasha’s teeth nip at her pulse point. Yasha growls at that, fingertips digging lightly above Beauregard’s hipbone. “Doesn’t matter, not complaining.”

The taste of her skin is addicting, Yasha’s come to learn. The noises pouring from her mouth and the way she claws at her back; it all drives her insane with desire. She’s made it this far without ravishing the woman beneath her by sheer force of will, something she’s always had in spades up until this point. Beauregard can take her to the brink of insanity without even meaning to, and Yasha is reminded of that when her hips jump at the slightest pressure of her thigh. She’s not sure how she’s not seeing red when Beau groans a bit too loud, her body bending to grind against her.

“You’re gonna wake them up,” Yasha husks, pressing kisses to Beau’s chest as her blunt nails are dragged up and down along her ribcage.

“It’s your fucking fault,” her voice is strained and she’s growling through clenched teeth and Yasha couldn’t be prouder of herself at that.

“I know,” there’s a smile in her voice Beau can hear, even if she can only see her silhouette thanks to the dying embers in the campfire. Yasha moves painfully slow, biting and nibbling though the wrappings around Beau’s chest, her fingertips moving along the edges of her pants. “Those, off.”

“Damn it, Yasha.” She’s pushed aside and the Beauregard’s form moves to slide the pants off of her legs. Yasha has enough braincells available to consider it will be more efficient to rid herself of her own remaining clothes while at it, so when Beauregard surges forward and shoves her back against the bedroll this time, she’s pleasantly surprised. “Holy shit, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

There’s some movement, they both glance at the light source and the hut behind it, barely able to see it in the distance. Yasha’s dark vision allows her to catch sight of the moore bounders snapping their teeth at each other even farther away and she sighs in relief, fingers threading through Beau’s hair and pulling it loose. “It’s alright,” she pulls her closer and brushes their lips together. Beauregard complies without a second thought, humming against her lips and dragging her fingertips along toned muscles and scarred skin. There are so many scars on Yasha’s body she can barely keep track of them, but she tries to commit every single one of them to memory all the same.

They have no idea how long they’ve been like this or when they’ve started moving against one another with such hunger, but they’re keeping a steady rhythm. They’re gasping and whispering sweet nothings to one another, their bodies tense and begging for more. Yasha feels the last shreds of her self-control leave her, her muscles taut as she pushes them both up to a sitting position, Beauregard straddling her and claiming her lips as soon as they’re settled. Before she can think too much into it, she’s pulling at the remaining pieces of clothes and letting her hands explore every dip and crevice, groaning low against starved lips when her fingers move between Beau’s thighs. It’s impossibly wet and warm and inviting and Yasha runs her tongue along Beauregard’s lower lip, her fingertips sliding effortlessly and causing a quiet moan that makes her brain freeze and stop working altogether.

From that point on, she’s made of pure instinct, and it’s incredible.

Nothing compares to letting another soul you feel deeply connected to experience you fully. To let her see you, truly see you. All of you. The good parts, the not so good ones. The ones you feel are hideous. To feel her touch, desperate but caring, heal the broken bits of your soul and her mouth kiss the demons away, whisper a prayer for more that makes your heart beat erratically. There’s nothing quite like chasing away the shadows etched on a lover’s skin and hear her sigh her comfort as she tries to fight against the barrier of the skin to get closer, closer even.

Yasha has suppressed the image of Beauregard like this for almost as long as she has known her.

All tanned skin and muscular limbs wrapped around her body, eyes closed shut and groans pouring from her lips whenever her fingers twist in a particular way or hit the perfect spot. Beau’s body bends for her, is fluid in her hands, follows her unspoken command like it’s been made for it. And her own body responds beautifully.

There’s a soft ruffle of feathers and she’s half-aware of what’s happening when Beauregard’s hands slide down the nape of her neck, along her shoulder and through the mess of white at her back. Yasha pulls back from her mouth and whimpers, the sensations heightened and making her head swim. It’s blinding and deafening and too much all of a sudden and Beauregard senses it, lets her adjust to the variety of new things stirring inside of her.

The fire in her lower abdomen is turning into a roaring inferno and she lets out a sound that’s nothing short of predatory, fingers delving deep inside of her lover and curling relentlessly, the heel of her hand pushing against the bundle of nerves, mouth devouring Beau’s without a hint of mercy. Beauregard comes apart in her hands, legs pulling her closer and her nails leaving trails of red between her shoulder blades.

They’re a sweaty, panting mess before long and Beau collapses against her chest, sated and trembling ever so slightly.

“Well… fuck…” she’s pressing lazy kisses to her clavicle and Yasha has yet to come back to her senses. Beau chuckles and cups her cheek with one hand, tilting her head to look into her eyes, “Hey, where did you go?”

Yasha blinks dumbly, “I’m right here.”

She takes in the glorious image before her and the corner of Beau’s mouth curls up in a devious smirk. “That was quite something… these are fun,” she trails the edge of Yasha’s right wing with her fingertip and it’s like electricity running through her veins straight to her core. She shakes with a tremor and Beau, of course, notices and kneels above her. Yasha knows, because she’s seen her in action, how nimble Beauregard’s hands are. She’s learnt in the last few nights, how skilled her mouth is. Even with all this knowledge, she’s not prepared for those two things combined, and before too long the kisses against her collarbone and the tantalizing massage are turning her into a puddle.

Yasha’s hands reach around Beau, sliding down her bare hips and grabbing the back of her thighs. It’s not the first time she’s been internally appreciative of the muscle there and it won’t be the last, either. Beau hums contently, teeth grazing the edge of her ear and kissing the spot behind it while one of her hands slides between a silky mess of feathers and the other one continues down Yasha’s abdomen. She moves slow, letting Yasha stop her if she doesn’t like what she’s doing, but Yasha is not above begging if it continues to be like this tor much longer. It’s sweet torture and the moment Beau’s fingertips slide between her soaked folds, the groan that claws its way up her throat drowns the animalistic growl that slips past Beauregard’s lips and gets the desired effect of hastening her actions.

Much in the same fashion it had happened to her before, something seems to snap in her lover’s mind. Yasha is thankful for this because she has already been on the brink of coming apart watching her partner, and now there’s perfect pressure and perfectly timed swipes on her clit and she’s nearly whining by the time Beau’s teeth find their mark along the edge of her wing.

Yasha doesn’t remember having felt anything quite like this. She could have sworn she had blacked out for a second, the shudders wracking her body and the heat coiling tightly before releasing in her lower half leaving her trembling and weakened and barely able to stay upright.

“Shh, I got you,” When she opens her eyes, Beau is holding her close to her chest and she carefully guides her down and onto the bedroll once more. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I? Sorry, I should have asked, I didn’t know if—” Yasha puts one finger to Beauregard’s lips and nuzzles her face against her cheek.

“I’m okay, a little overwhelmed. I didn’t know that would happen. But yes, I’m so much more than okay.”

Beau shuffles a bit and stands, stretching her body in of all her naked glory. Yasha swallows a lump in her throat while she throws a second bedroll over her and a big creature’s fur they’ve been carrying around for the Deepwinter’s nights, but they’ve never had the chance to put to good use until now. Strong arms wrap around the lithe body once it slides beneath the covers and Beau snuggles without further need for encouragement. “I think you woke ‘em up, by the way. Hope you’re ready to be mortified by Jester for the rest of the week. Month. Year. Potentially, decade.”

Yasha groans pathetically and Beau lets out a very un-Beau-like giggle. It’s always a treat to get to watch and listen to Beauregard being herself without putting up a façade. Yasha can’t help but smile fondly and kiss her forehead, fingers trailing random patterns along the skin of her back.

“You’re wonderful. _I love you, Yash_.”

 “ _I love you, too_.”

The smile turns into a grin and Yasha shakes her head, brushing her nose against Beauregard’s temple. “And we really need to work on that celestial.”

**Author's Note:**

> Remember you can drop by and say hi and send prompts if you want anything in particular.  
> If you're gonna throw tomatoes, I probably deserve it and I fully accept that. Just please avoid the potatoes, those hurt.
> 
> Catch me at /gaymessonmain in Tumblr, always happy to meet new critters! <3


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